THE bamboo having been disposed of I was returned to the show-case, where I spent two very lonely days. The rods around me were worth more money than I was, and feeling their importance they would scarcely speak to me, even to answer a civil question; so all I could do was to hold my peace and listen to their conversation. But fate had decreed that I should not long remain a captive. One afternoon there came into the store a gentleman in gold spectacles, accompanied by two bright boys about fifteen years of age. They must have been well known to the proprietor, for he shook their hands with all the cordiality which shopkeepers know how to assume toward their rich patrons, and greeted them with:
“Ah, colonel, I am glad to see you. Well, Joseph, have you come after that rod?”
“Yes, sir,” answered one of the boys, a curly-headed, blue-eyed lad, who looked so good-natured and jolly that I took a great fancy to him at once. “You remember what I told you the last time I was here, Mr. Brown—that I want something light and strong and inexpensive. I can’t afford to pay a high price for a rod that I may break at the very first cast. You know I never threw a fly in my life.”
“Yes, I know that,” said Mr. Brown, “and I know, too, that as a bait fisher you have few equals and no superiors among boys of your age.”
“I thank you for the compliment, but I am afraid I don’t deserve it,” said the blue-eyed boy, modestly.
“Oh, yes, you do. Now here’s a rod that will suit you exactly,” answered the proprietor, pushing open the show-case and laying hold of me. “He weighs only eight ounces, hangs beautifully, and will answer your purpose as well as one worth five times the money. Only six and a half, and that’s cheaper than you could steal him, if you were in that line of business.”
“What do you say, Uncle Joe?” asked the boy after he and his companion, whom he addressed as Roy Sheldon, had shaken me up and down in the air until it was a wonder to me that they did not break my back.
“Since Mr. Brown has recommended him, I say that you can’t do better than to take him,” was the reply, and that settled the matter. I had a master at last, and a good one, too, if there were any faith to be put in appearances. I took him for a restless, uneasy fellow who would not let me rust for want of use, and I found that I had not been mistaken in my opinion of him.
Joe, as I shall hereafter call him, next purchased, under his uncle’s supervision, three long water-proof lines, a Loomis automatic reel, a dozen cream-colored leaders of different lengths, a creel who afterward became my constant companion, and a fly-book filled with all the most tempting lures known to anglers, such as coachmen, white millers, red and brown hackles, and many other things whose names I did not know. With these under his arm and me on his shoulder he set out for home accompanied by Roy Sheldon, Uncle Joe taking leave of them at the door, saying that he was going to the post-office.
“I wish every fellow in the world had an uncle like that,” said Joe, as he turned about and waved his hand to the gentleman with the gold spectacles.